


Meet The Sheriff

by millersmonty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millersmonty/pseuds/millersmonty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had met Jackson before, of course, but never under these circumstances. He’d never been introduced to him as his son’s boyfriend. Arch nemesis? Yes. Lacrosse teammate? Yes. Study partner? Once or twice. But never as a boyfriend. This was a momentous occasion. At least, it must be if the fact that Stiles had been on edge like a skittish rabbit for three days was anything to go by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet The Sheriff

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know what this is. written for day four of stackson week. no beta.

John pulled his eyes away from the pot of Alfredo sauce he was stirring to glance upward at the ceiling. If he hadn’t known any better he might think there was a herd of inebriated elephants upstairs, with all the thumping and crashing he kept hearing. It was just Stiles, though. Graceful and poised were two words he knew would never be used to describe his son. Stiles had a pretty nervy disposition even on ordinary days, so this entire dinner arrangement had him cranked up to eleven.

 

When he glanced at the clock, John noticed that it was twelve minutes to six, and he couldn’t resist glancing out the window above the sink to see if any outrageously fancy cars had pulled up in the driveway. There was nothing there yet. To be fair, Jackson wasn’t supposed to arrive until six, but punctuality was one of the little things that John always made sure to take note of when he first met someone. He had met Jackson before, of course, but never under these circumstances. He’d never been introduced to him as his son’s boyfriend. Arch nemesis? Yes. Lacrosse teammate? Yes. Study partner? Once or twice. But never as a _boyfriend_. This was a momentous occasion. At least, it must be if the fact that Stiles had been on edge like a skittish rabbit for three days was anything to go by.

 

He was just turning the heat down to a simmer when he heard Stiles stumble down the stairs behind him. When he turned, he saw that Stiles was dressed in dark jeans that were tighter than what he usually wore. He standard graphic t-shirt had been replaced by a plain deep red v-neck, and instead of a hoodie he was wearing a black leather jacket that John had never seen before. It was a little big through the shoulders, but it still looked nice. His hair was smooth and tamed down, and John was sure he could smell a new cologne. Stiles extended his arms out beside him awkwardly and turned his torso slightly left and then right with a hesitant look on his face.

 

“Well?” Stiles asked, slightly out of breath. “How do I look?”

 

“Nice. Good,” John shrugged. He didn’t see why it mattered that much. “Isn’t he already your boyfriend, though? I think that means he likes you well enough as is, dorky t-shirts and all.”

 

Stiles sighed and said, “Okay, one: my shirts are not dorky. Show some respect. And two: just because he already likes me doesn’t mean I don’t still want to look nice for him sometimes. And it’s a special occasion.”

 

Before John could respond there was a knock on the door. Stiles lunged forward into the hallway to answer it, probably trying to make sure the got there before John could. John stepped back into the kitchen and glanced out the window, taking notice of the silver Porsche in the driveway. What sixteen-year-old needs a _Porsche_? What parents of a sixteen-year-old could possibly think a _Porsche_ is a good idea? He barely trusted Stiles with the Jeep most days.

John could hear the boys talking lowly just inside the doorway, and he didn’t bother to stop himself from eavesdropping.

 

“You look great,” Jackson was saying. “I like you in red.”

 

“So you’ve said, a hundred times before.”

 

“I like you in my jacket too. Can’t really be mad that you keep stealing it, when you look like that in it.”

 

And, yeah, John really didn’t think he wanted to hear where that conversation might go. He stepped around the corner and leaned against the arch separating the front entryway from the kitchen. Stiles and Jackson were standing close together just inside the front door. Stiles’ hands were latched on to the collar of Jackson’s dark green button-down, and Jackson had one hand tugging on the leather jacket and the other resting low on Stiles’ back. Too low. John coughed to get their attention and the boys sprang apart.

 

“Dad!” Stiles exclaimed, like he just remembered that his father was even in the house. ”Uh, this is Jackson. Whittemore. Jackson, meet my dad. John. Well, you've met before, but you know what I mean. Dad, Jackson. Jackson, Dad.”

 

Stiles’s face was pink and his expression was almost pained, as if he would love nothing more than to make himself stop talking. Both John and Jackson looked at Stiles with raised eyebrows. John noticed that where other people might have looked at his son with annoyance or confusion at his rambling, Jackson wore an expression of fondness and amusement.

 

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Jackson said. He stepped forward and extended his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you again though, Sir. Jackson Whittemore.”

 

The handshake lingered longer than usual, and neither John nor Jackson broke eye contact. Stiles was looking back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match. Finally, John gave a small smile and extracted his hand.

 

“Nice to meet you too, Jackson.”

 

He heard Stiles let out a sigh of relief before he grabbed Jackson by the hand and forcefully dragged him into the kitchen.

 

“Ok then, let’s eat!”

 

 

***

 

 

Dinner was a rather uneventful affair. There were large blocks of silence broken up by bits of small talk and the standard ‘meeting the parent’ questions. John pushed his mostly empty plate away from him and leaned back in his chair, regarding Jackson carefully. Over dinner he’d learned that Jackson was smart, loved sports of all kinds, and was torn between wanting to be a lawyer like his dad and wanting to coach lacrosse. He hated vanilla flavored things, he’d never had a pet of any kind, his favorite color was red, and English was his best subject in school. He’d been playing the piano since he was four and his mother made him play if he was ever at home when her friends came over. He seemed like a good kid, even if John was still wary of the Porsche and couldn’t stand Jackson’s father.

 

“Stiles. Why don’t you get started on the dishes,” John finally spoke, never breaking eye contact with Jackson.

 

“Dad, please don’t b—“ 

 

“Stiles,” John’s tone made it clear that it wasn’t a request. “We’ll be in the living room.”

 

Stiles looked like he was going to protest again, but sighed and stood up from the table. He shared a look with Jackson, trying to apologize in advance without speaking while he gathered the plates. Jackson just smiled reassuringly and stood, gesturing for John to lead the way into the other room.

 

John sat down on the couch and motioned for Jackson to take the love seat. They could both hear Stiles grumbling in the kitchen. Jackson smirked, and John realized that he could probably hear what he was saying.

 

“I guess this is the part where I tell you that if you hurt him you’ll have a clip full of Wolfsbane bullets in you before the day is done,” John said.

 

Jackson ducked his head, but said nothing.

 

“I don’t have to give you the whole speech, do I, Jackson?” he asked sternly.

 

Jackson shook his head rapidly. “No sir. I get it,” he answered.

 

“Good. I didn’t think so. Because I like to think I’m a fairly observant man, and if there’s one thing I’ve noticed tonight it’s the way you keep looking at my son like he’s the most important, special thing in the world. And as long as you keep looking at him like that, I don’t think we’ll have anything to worry about.”

 

“He is,” Jackson said. “He is the most important, special thing in the world. And I love him.” 

 

Jackson said it without pause, like he didn’t even have to think about it, and John was taken aback by how sure he sounded. Even Jackson looked like he wasn’t quite sure where it came from. He took a deep breath and paused, and then he was smiling.

 

“I’m in love with your son,” Jackson said, more firm this time, and looked John straight in the eye when he said it.

 

“Have you told him that?” John asked, raising his eyebrows and gesturing with his head to the kitchen.

 

Jackson shook his head. “Not yet. But I will. He’ll be pissed if he finds out I told you first, though.”

 

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

Stiles walked into the living room then and came to stand next to where Jackson was sitting. He looked back and forth between them, before reaching down to grab Jackson’s hand and pull him up.

 

“Well, dishes are done,” He said, “And if you’re done trying to intimidate my boyfriend, we’ll be going upstairs now.” He was already pulling Jackson along, like it didn’t matter whether his dad was done or not.

 

John leaned back into the couch and smirked. “Your door stays open and he’s leaving by ten.”

 

“Dad it’s Friday!” Stiles exclaimed. “And you don’t need to watch me like I’m some kind of…of…delinquent!”

 

John leveled his son with a glare. “Exactly, you have the whole weekend to hang out. And I think I do need to watch you, given the fact that multiple neighbors have told me about the young man that often climbs through your bedroom window when I work nights.”

 

Stiles and Jackson both looked horrified. Stiles was gaping like a fish and Jackson looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him up right then and send him to another dimension. John found it quite entertaining, and he almost laughed when Stiles started sputtering in an attempt to come up with an excuse.

 

“Don’t worry, son. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 


End file.
